Hisoka Sensei Has The Hands Of My Dreams (ONE SHOT)
by Hisoka182
Summary: I am a hand fetishist. My fetish is a bit weird, I know, but, oh well. Basically, my basis on everything is by that person's hand. I have a thing for hands, after all. It just so happen that Hisoka Sensei has the ultimate hands of my dreams. I didn't even know that all these time he was . . . Hisoka x Reader


**It's been a while since I last wrote a story. Hello! :)**

 **Know the one shot manga with the title "Zutto Miteita Mono Desu Kara" (translated "Because I've Always Been Watching")?**

 **Well, this story was from that manga (I copied it to be honest)**

 **Somehow, I am not able to get any ideas out of my head to write a new story. An original one at that. That is why I am not able to finish up my other stories. (Sumimasen T.T)**

 ***I DO NOT OWN THIS STORY. PLEASE SUPPORT THE ARTIST AND THE DISTRIBUTOR BY PURCHASING THE MANGA MENTIONED ABOVE* (or you could just read it online)**

 **Lol whatever. Please enjoy the story! And don't forget to leave a review! :D**

 **PS: Read the manga, I recommend it. It's cute. Although it's short.**

* * *

I stared at Sensei's hand as he scribbled a quick note regarding the time left before the end of the exam.

"Okay people, there are ten minutes remaining," he said as he glanced at his wristwatch.

 _Ah._

I think I'm gonna drool, just looking at that perfect hands of his.

 _Oohh, I just want to cover them with kisses. Lots and lots of kisses,_ I said in my mind.

"Please pass the answer sheets from the back," he said after ten minutes.

Ugh. He didn't even extended the time for us. He's as strict as ever.

As he was collecting the answer sheets from each row, I wasn't able to stop the urge and stared at his hands again.

Damn. Damn Sensei's perfect hands.

Okay. I'll just throw away this little but very confidential information about me.

I'm a little bit of a. . .

Hand fetishist.

 _Hehe. I know I'm creepy sorry._

I've been this way ever since I saw my kindergarten teacher's hand when he was showing us how to make a simple origami. I was sitting beside him that time, and he was so close to me. He was folding the paper with his hands, so those pair of hands caught my attention and instead of looking at his folding I began staring at his hands. His hands are perfect, folding the paper as if he was playing with it. I was so amazed by it, thinking how a hand can be so beautiful.

Well, that didn't stop there. It went over the days. From my kindergarten to elementary. Even when I started middle school, I just couldn't stop but touch people's hands! It would be squishy, could be long nails, could be just anything that you commonly see in one's hands but to me they all have different meaning.

During that time, my striking zone was established. I remembered that one time in the train. . .

 _It's not a girls' hands, isn't it?_ I asked myself when I saw a hand holding onto a grip holder haft _(I don't know what if it's called that lol)_ in a train pack of passenger just like myself. _Being thin is not enough, it's also in the way the bones and the tendons rise. The balance of the five fingers and the functional beauty from the wrist to the elbow. . . No doubt it's a man's._ I said to myself as I continued to ponder while staring deeply at the stranger's hands.

Up until now, hands are my basis almost on everything. That's why, for example, if there is a nice and handsome Mr. A with hands I don't like, and a nice but awkward Mr. B with the hands that I admire, I would definitely pick Mr. B. And that is without any hesitation.

 _Well, it would be nice if someone like Mr. B exists. Though I wonder, will he let me touch his hands?_

"Hey, what are you daydreaming for? Hurry up and hand me your sketchpad," Sensei said while he was arranging the test papers.

Whoa, I didn't notice myself walked to his table.

I frowned as I gave him my sketchpad. This mean-looking teacher has the hands of my dream.

I mean, even if I don't touch it, just by looking at his hands, it's already screaming for my name, as if it's waiting for me to love it, touch it, feel it.

 _Nah. Not gonna happen,_ I thought as I walked through the door.

"Oh yes, that's right. Name-san, you're staying after school today," I heard him say before I was out of the classroom.

Eh?

I dashed to his side, thinking that I heard something absurd as that. "HUH? ME? WHAT? WHY?" I asked him, unable to believe what he just said.

"Why you ask?" He smirked and stared at you. "Because you didn't hand in your output for my subject, didn't you?"

Ah! Now that I think about it. . . I was so absorbed with staring at his hands that time that I ended up unconsciously drawing something completely unrelated to the subject.

Sensei teaches art, so his output for us before we took the exam is to sketch a basket of fruits. But instead of sketching the basket full of fruits, I finished sketching Sensei's hand — I don't want to brag but it was as perfect as Sensei's hands, from his forearm, to his wrists, and to the tip of his fingers.

 _Well it's not my fault! It's his fault for standing there beside the model and displaying that perfect hands of his!_

"Well, hehe, that's. . . Uhm . . ." I wasn't able to say anything as Sensei was already glaring at me.

I sighed. Well, at least I am able to spend more time with Sensei and drool over his hand.

"Understood? Come to the Art Classroom after this," after he said that, he passed by me and left.

My grimace is now more contorted than anyone can imagine.

"Uhm, Hisoka Sensei. . ." I called out his attention. "Isn't this too different from the other model?" I asked, frown now forming up in my face again when I saw the model placed in the table. It's not even close to the basket full of fruits. What happened to the apple? Banana? Pineapple? Mango? The model in front of me now is a bear! A bear with a fish in its mouth!

"Oh, that?" He said casually. "That's your penalty for not handing in your output in time."

I looked at him. "Well, this looks like it'll take a lot of time," I grumbled under my breath.

"Stop complaining. Just draw the subject and you'll get to go home. I'll be cleaning up the place in the meantime," he answered.

"Okay," my response came out a grumble again.

When I was on my way to finishing up my drawing, I remembered something.

 _Come to think of it,_ I thought while looking at Sensei's back while he was moving a few of the canvas from one place to another, _I fell in love with his hands at first glance in this classroom._

"Hey, did you finish drawing?" Seems like he noticed me completely staring at him that he suddenly looked at me.

My heart thumped loud. _That surprised me._

He walked until he was behind my back and assessed my drawing. "Oh, that's good. Good. That turned out pretty nice, don't you think?" He said, sounding impressed.

"That's because I worked hard on it," I answered, grinning from ear to ear. Being complemented by Sensei is something that my heart can't take.

I heard him chuckle. "Well then," He faced me. He was giving off a smile that is so close to a smirk. "Here is your reward."

He reached out his hand to my face, and then suddenly, I felt the back of his hand on my lips. He gently rubbed the skin of his hand on my lips, making me feel that strong hand of his.

I wasn't able to respond quickly. When he took his hand off, my eyes widen and my face turned red. Like completely red.

WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!

He chuckled again, amused by my reaction. "You like my hands, right?" He asked confidently.

His question surprised me. I was speechless. My heart is unstable and is beating louder and faster than before.

 _How did he know?_

He rested his arms on the table in front of me and left his hand hanging there, showing it off. "Well, you're always staring at it so passionately," He said again as if knowing what I was thinking.

My face is redder than ever. It feels hot. "I-I di-didn't s-stare. . . No. . ." I stammered, thinking of the right words to answer him, to deny what he was saying.

When did he discover? I was found out! I couldn't even think properly. What is Sensei thinking right now? Is he disgusted? Is laughing inside?

Then suddenly out of nowhere, the scene just a moment ago flashed in my head. Well, he wouldn't rub his hand on my lips if he's disgusted, right? And he said it was my reward. Just what the hell is this teacher thinking?

I'm so confused.

He stared directly at me. "You've been found out," he said, smirking, as if he's enjoying what he's seeing.

I wasn't able to give him a response.

In one swift move, his face was near mine. "How did I know? I'll tell you." I could feel his hot breath on my face. He held my face close to his, smirk never leaving his face. I heard him whispered to my ear, "Because I've always been watching you."

 ***END***


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